


Why?

by shag_me_senseless_watson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, But Back Together Again, Complete, Eventual Johnlock, Falling out, M/M, tw drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 12:46:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8014513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shag_me_senseless_watson/pseuds/shag_me_senseless_watson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock's return, John turns his back on him and tells him to leave him alone. Sherlock respects John's wishes, but it causes him to go back to his old habits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why?

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sherlock or the characters mentioned.

There are times when Sherlock thinks he can handle himself, and then there are times where he’s lost, confused, and scared.  
  
The latter is one of those times.  
  
John hadn’t talked to him in months since his return. Eight, to be exact. Eight months of no John. It hurt Sherlock more now than when he was away for two whole years.  
  
He had expected John to be glad that he wasn’t dead - glad that Sherlock had heard his speech and answered his prayers.  
  
That’s the problem - he expected. Assumed.  
  
He assumed that John would be happy to see him. He didn’t expect for him to shut him out of his life completely.  
  
Sherlock hadn’t taken it well - still isn’t, in fact. He started using again.  
  
He started ignoring Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade - everyone. He avoided anyone and kept to himself.  
  
He can’t take it anymore. He can’t stand living in a world where there is no John to make it brighter. He can’t stand not having his best friend around to tell him that he’s showing off, or that he’s said something at the wrong time again.  
  
He can’t stand it.  
  
Thus, he found himself on a mattress in his usual drug den, accompanied by a few other people.  
  
He lay on his side, his mind completely quiet for once in all of the eight months of hell. He heard people entering the building, all too loudly for his liking, but he paid them no mind.  
  
Only when they got half way across the room and kept getting nearer to him did he move, and it was to curl in on himself further.  
  
He didn’t have to look to know who was there.  
  
“Sherlock, why? Why now, why again?”  
  
John. John sounded angry. John sounded tired.  
  
“Yes, why, Sherlock?”  
  
Mycroft. Mycroft sounded sad. Mycroft sounded concerned.  
  
He ignored them both.  
  
He can’t face them and their judgment.  
  
He can’t face John, only to be left alone again.  
  
He can’t face Mycroft, only to be pitied.  
  
He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.  
  
Sherlock unsheathed his needle from under his pillow and injected himself with it. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. Not when everyone judges him. Not when all he has is an empty flat. Not when he can’t have John.  
  
John was the first to move. He quickly knelt down next to Sherlock, took his needle, and broke it. Sherlock shrugged. He could barely do anything to stop him. He could barely do anything at all, really. He hadn’t moved, or eaten, or drank, or slept, in days. He is weak, both in mind and body, and he hates himself for it.  
  
John places a hand under Sherlock’s head and lifts it gently. He looks at Sherlock’s gaunt features and frowns. He’s angry, sure. But now he feels guilty. He led him to this. He made Sherlock like this without meaning to. God, he…  
  
“Stop,” Mycroft’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “Stop blaming yourself. It won’t help you or him. Just help me get him to hospital.”  
  
John nods and picks up Sherlock’s upper half of his body while Mycroft took the bottom half, and together they brought him out to Mycroft’s car, where it would then take them to Bart’s.

* * *

Sherlock slowly began to wake. He opens his eyes and groans at the bright light that engulfs him. He slowly opens them once more, giving them time to adjust. He looks around and sees that he was in a hospital bed, in a gown. He sighs. No doubt Mycroft would be here soon to tell him he was going to rehab. Again.  
  
His door opened and he was about a millisecond away from shouting at his brother to go away, but it was John.  
  
Sherlock looked away, ashamed.  
  
“You don’t have to be here,” he whispered. His throat felt dry and itchy from not having anything to drink in a while.  
  
John looked at Sherlock as he lay in bed, motionless. Sherlock was too scared to move.  
  
“I know,” John said. “But I want to be.”  
  
“Why? I’m nothing to you, now. You don’t have to worry about your druggie of a best -” Sherlock stopped short. No. Not best friend anymore.  
  
John sighed and moved to sit in a guest chair across from Sherlock’s bed.  
  
“I’m sorry," John murmured. “This is all my fault.”  
  
Sherlock whipped his head around to look at him.  
  
“Don’t. Don’t go blaming yourself for my idiotic decisions."  
  
“I drove you to this, Sherlock! I abandoned you. I -” Realization shown on John’s face. “Oh God… I abandoned you. I left you. I - Oh God…”  
  
“Stop! _I_ left _you_ , remember? For two years. You had - have - every right to leave me. You’re not bound to me, John. You never have been. But it was … nice, while it lasted, our friendship. I only hope that one day you will forgive me for doing that to you. God only knows I wouldn’t be able to. But you, John - you’re a good man. But you’re not bound to me.” With that, Sherlock lowered his eyes down to his lap and twiddled his thumbs, expecting John to leave and never come back - again. But he didn’t.  
  
John listened as Sherlock spoke. He wanted to cry, and break something, and scream. He wanted to hate, and be angry, and be upset. But he couldn’t.  
  
“No.”  
  
Sherlock looked up. “Pardon?”  
  
“No, I’m not bound to you. No, you didn’t leave me, you saved me. No, I will not forgive you -”  
  
Sherlock’s throat swelled. He could understand. Really.  
  
“Not until you forgive me first.”  
  
“W-what? Forgive you for what?”  
  
“Leading you to do this to yourself. Please - I feel guilty. I feel like I did this to you. I felt so alone these past few months, but the moment Mycroft called and said you were in trouble, I just couldn’t ignore you any longer. I’ve been acting like a total prat. Please, Sherlock, forgive me.”  
  
“John Hamish Watson, I forgive you. Even though there’s nothing to forgive, I forgive you.”  
  
“Then it’s settled. We’re both forgiven. But so help me God, if you ever pull a stunt like that, or this, ever again, I will -”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Good. Now, once you’re out of here, what do you say we go back to Baker Street and have a nice cup of tea. Hmm?”  
  
Sherlock grinned for the first time in a while, but it immediately vanished with one single thought.  
  
“What about Mary?”  
  
“Oh. Right. You wouldn’t have heard. We got divorced two months ago; she faked being pregnant, so I left her.”  
  
“Where are you staying, then?”  
  
“With Mike for now.”  
  
“John?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Come home with me.”  
  
“Gladly.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think? xx


End file.
